‘You lit the fire? But the wood…’

‘Shanni chopped it. The boys stacked it. The wood box is full.’

Shanni had chopped the wood. She’d lit the stove. She’d made choc-chip cookies. He stared.

‘I know,’ she said, pseudo-modest. ‘Call me Wonderwoman.’

‘Ruby said you’re an artist.’ His tone was almost accusatory. He heard it, and tried desperately to retrieve himself. ‘I mean…’

‘I think I’m converting to wood chopping,’ Shanni said. ‘I’ve failed cows’ legs, and chopping vents anger.’

‘Anger…’

‘Now, why would I be feeling anger?’ she said, to Wendy rather than him. ‘To be brought here under false pretences…’

Whoa. Things were spinning away from him. ‘False pretences?’ he said weakly.

‘One baby,’ she said, and tugged Wendy against her in another display of the power of sisterhood. Men, the gesture said. The despicable species. ‘One baby does not equate to five kids. Ruby told me one baby. I rang you from my friend’s and you said one baby.’

Uh-oh.

‘I didn’t say one baby,’ he said weakly. ‘But, yeah, Ruby would have told you one baby. To be honest, when you rang I thought I’d get you here any way I could and try and bribe you into staying once you got here.’

Beam me up now, Scotty, he thought bleakly. I’m an outright bastard.

But suddenly they had a diversion. Bessy had been nestling against Wendy’s shoulder, content from her drive. But Bessy was eight months old. She hadn’t been fed since breakfast. She was a young lady with chicken pox.

Bessy suddenly recalled all this in one huge momentous wash of outrage. She opened her mouth, and she yelled.

‘Can you stay at least until we’ve fed Bessy?’ Pierce asked over the yells.

‘I’m staying until you’ve done some explaining,’ Shanni said grimly. ‘I need to murder you or I need to murder my Aunty Ruby, and I can’t figure out which.’